


Touching Stars

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Black Hole Jim, Gore, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Star John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A light falls to earth, warm, happy, brilliantly illuminating the world around it. Loved, cherished, wanted; Darkness falls to earth, cold, black, consuming the world around it. Hated, feared, alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johniarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/gifts).



> Rating will change as the story progresses~

Black.

Inky, thick darkness swirling forever and consuming all he touched. A void. A nothing. Feared and hated and reviled. Something to be dreaded, everyone and everything’s worst nightmare. He consumed all life, devoured all that was bright and good never to return. Sometimes he did it on accident. Sometimes he did it out of spite.

There was a great deal he wanted to do, but more than anything, he wanted to touch a star. But every time he reached, every time he attempted to, every time he basked in their light, he sucked them in. One touch, even closeness with one, turned it to nothing. Took it away, stripped it away, destroyed it.

That’s all he could do, destroy.

Which is why the system he’d taken in was dying.

“I’m sorry!” He cried, watching the planets and stars get sucked into the vast depths of the nothing he created. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t want to do this!”

He didn’t want any of this. All he wanted was to see light, that’s all he wanted but no, no, he’d ruined it. Broken it forever he could never, ever have light. Only horrible, cold darkness.

They were all going to die, all of these stars… He was killing them, he was murdering all of them and he could hear their screams as they went, as they were torn into the smallest of fragments and disappeared into the void he created by simply being.

Movement in the dying sun caught his eye, a star, one little star was falling away from him. Escaping to somewhere far away, somewhere he could barely see. Was it that easy? To just… let go. Leave the sky? What if he died?

He listened to the screams rattle around him, the sky becoming darker and darker and soon he would be in pitch darkness, alone again.

Perhaps death wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

He simply let go…

~*~

The English countryside held no real treasures if one didn’t value rustic scenery. Fog, rolling hills covered in sheep, bright gray skies and a watery sun that peeked through now and again.

In this particular place, with its woods and sheep farms, there was nothing to be seen, which bored little Sherlock Holmes to death. His parents liked it out here, their little vacation to sit and read and Mycroft could also sit and read and he was left to amble about the place with Redbeard. He didn’t go near the river, as he was told, and he stayed within sight from the house, which meant no exploring in the woods.

He kicked a rock, which Redbeard barked at and ran after as it skittered down the hill to bring it back to him. He sighed. “Boring.”

No sooner had the word left his mouth that something stirred the air. Not wind, wind didn’t blow straight down, it was...something else.

Something like thunder shook the ground, just for a moment, and a brilliant light flooded the sky.

Sherlock gasped, whirling around to watch-

“A star!” He shouted, climbing on the boulder he’d been sitting on. Redbeard began barking. “A star, it’s a star! Mummy! Mummy, come look, it’s falling!”

Nothing in the house stirred, of course, and he was left to watch the bright light plummet to the earth, and it would land somewhere in the trees. He bolted after it, watching the light as it fell. He wanted to see it, he wanted to touch it, he-

There was a shape in the light. A small, tiny little shape, like a person.

“A boy! There’s a boy in the star! Mycroft, come and see!”

Again no one stirred, and he bolted into the woods after the light. It was farther away than he thought, but that wouldn’t stop him. “Come on, Redbeard!”

~*~

It had all been so frightening. A small, dark little spot completely void of light. No stars inside, no nothing. And it had been crying.

He tried to tell everyone that the spot was crying and scared but no one heard him. By the time they took notice of the bleak spot that was getting bigger, and bigger it was too late.

They were all taken by it, but it wasn’t its fault! He was scared, that’s why it kept growing, the more afraid and angry he was the bigger he got but he didn’t want to hurt anyone.

He ran from it. He took his light and ran to the closest place that could take him.

He landed in a ball of warmth and stardust on a pile of wet dead leaves and soft black earth, sitting up and looking around the strange place. The whispers here were different. Everything was connected, the barks of the trees, the grass, the wind, they all talked to each other at once.

Different, but not horrible.

It was lovely, all alive and green and pulsing with such life. It was beautiful.

A sudden crack above his head caught his attention, and he watched the sky tint with black, bleak spot. The clouds opened and a plume of black cloud, dark as ink, and fell down too fast with nothing to catch it, as the light had caught him. He could barely make out a shape in the darkness, the boy locked in the black.

Unlike him, there was no cradle for him.

He slammed into the earth, a massive crater of shadow enveloping him and sucking down several trees and their roots with it. The sound of the branches twisted and cracking was horrific and shook him to his core to watch the destruction.

When the black finally cleared, a boy was left at the center of debris. His skin was almost white, his hair and eyes black as the pitch he brought with him.

The star glowed, bright and glowing all around him. His hair and skin were dusted with glittering flecks of light, his eyes a sparkling, warm blue, a striking contrast to the other boy.

He was bruised from his fall, looking around with sharp worry in his features. He was cold, John could feel it from where he was, and black tendrils of smoke oozed from wherever he was touching the ground. His face smeared in dirt he looked around in terror, and his eyes finally rested on John.

 _“You...you’re okay,”_ he said in their strange language foreign to any whisper of sound on this planet. The start nodded.

 _“Yes. Are you?”_ He asked, reaching for him. The darkness scuttled back, shaking his head.

 _“Don’t! I’ll get you too, don’t touch me!”_ As he panicked the darkness around him grew, the ground buckling beneath him.

 _“Hey, hey, it’s okay!”_ The star assured, smiling at him. _“I’m okay, see? I’m close and nothing happened, it’s okay.”_

The darkness stared at him, relaxing bit by bit. The ground settled and the black crept back into him. “ _I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I just… I just want to talk to someone!”_ He pleaded, his voice echoing and hollow.

The star swallowed and nodded. _“I know. I know, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, you can’t help it.”_

The voice was like honey, warm and encompassing, and so soothing. The darkness crept closer to him on instinct, staring in awe. The star was so bright, so warm and he wanted to be closer. He wanted to feel that warmth and know it. Finally he wanted to feel something that wasn’t bleak, frigid nothingness.

Darkness reached for light, and the light was more than happy to try and touch him. _“It’s okay. You’re safe now. And I’m here with you. Nothing bad’s gonna happen now. We’re together. You aren’t alone.”_

Their fingers brushed together, and the star gasped in pain. The stardust around his forefinger turned black, the light going out before they could even fully touch, and the darkness watched it disappear inside of him. For a moment he could feel the warmth, which made it all the more horrible when it went away.

He looked at the star and cried out, covering his mouth and shaking his head. _“No. No! I can’t touch you, I’ll hurt you!”_ The ground began to rumble and the dark hurried away, tears the color of ink staining his pale face. The star’s light surged, his want to heal and protect overpowering him and he toddled after him, reaching for him.

_“Wait! Wait, please, don’t go! Don’t go, we can fix it! I can help-!”_

_“STAY AWAY FROM ME!”_

The forest behind him buckled. Rocks split and fell into the sudden sinkhole that formed behind him, more trees falling and being ripped into shards of nothing in the black pool he created.

The star fell with a cry, golden tears in his bright eyes. _“B-but I want to help you.”_

 _“You can’t!”_ He wailed. _“You’ll die!”_

They both turned to a sudden, repetitive sharp sound that echoed around them. A sound from an animal neither of them knew of, and the voice of an inhabitant calling out. The darkness turned and started to run away.

_“Wait! Wait, we can’t split up, come back!”_

_“No good, I’m no good, I’m no good, I’m no good!”_

The darkness resolved to run away. He had to stay away from everyone or he’d hurt them. He’d break them, he’d destroy everything just like he did everywhere else. And even as the broken little pleas of the star tinkled in his ear he kept running.

He wanted to touch a star, but it could never be. At least, this time, he could keep one safe.

~*~

Sherlock staggered into the clearing, his eyes growing in wonder at the sight around him. A little boy about his age was perched on the edge of a massive sinkhole, staring after something he couldn’t see. Perhaps it was the little dot moving on the horizon, an animal probably.

“Wow, did you do that?!” He exclaimed happily, his knees and elbows skinned from his urgency to get to this place.

The glowing boy turned and stared at him, clearly not understanding what he asked. “That,” Sherlock repeated, pointing at the hole. “Did you,” he pointed at the boy. “Do that?” Another gesture to the sinkhole.

The strange boy shook his head, creeping closer to him.

He was naked, little pools of gold dust left behind in his little footprints as he got closer. “Aren’t you cold?” Sherlock asked, taking off his scarf and offering it to him. The odd child pushed it away and took his hand, lifting it to look at the blood on his elbows. He placed his hand over it, and a brilliant gold light shone from his palm. When it faded, the sting was gone.

“Brilliant,” Sherlock whispered, smiling at him. “I’m Sherlock,” he said, fashioning the scarf around the boy’s waist, laughing when he wiggled his hips excitedly. “What are you called?”

The boy cocked his head, wiping what appeared to be residual tears off his face, and not understanding again.

Sherlock pointed to himself. “Sher-lock,” he said slowly, patting his chest. “Sherlock. And you are?” He pointed at the boy.

 _“Light!”_ He exclaimed, but to Sherlock’s odd sense of hearing, it didn’t sound like that at all. More of a muffled ‘Jnn.’

“John?” Sherlock repeated back. The boy giggled and clapped, nodding. Sherlock smiled back. “John! It’s nice to meet you, John.”

“Shr-lick,” John said, pointing at him. Sherlock laughed.

“Close enough. C’mon, let’s get you out of the cold. My mummy’ll take care of you too if I ask her nice enough. She takes care of Mycroft fine and he’s a pompous arse!”

John walked hand in hand with Sherlock, casting one more look back toward the destruction the darkness had left, sad. Maybe one day he would see him again. He hoped he would be alright. He closed his eyes and wished so hard that the sad boy would find some happiness.

~*~

“Oi! The hell are you doin’ here?!”

The darkness had been hiding in shadow, where he felt the safest. The black warmth of the barn was shelter and out of the way. He couldn’t hurt anyone if he was tucked away in here. And there were all sorts of live things in here to keep him company. Their sounds and their funny language with each other was comforting, but this creature, a man, was unsettling.

He cowered away from him and fought when he grabbed him, shaking his head and trying to get away while he was dragged out into the open again.

“What’s that there, Frank?!” Another man called, jogging over.

“Some boy I found in the hay! Lookit him, all skin and bones and stark naked. Where’s your mum, lad?” Frank asked, but to the darkness it sounded like an accusation, a harsh demand. He tugged harder.

 _“Let go!”_ He pleaded.

“What’s that he’s speakin’, that Welsh?” Frank asked.

“Hell if I know, Reg!”

“Maybe it’s Irish-”

“Who gives a fuck,  just help me get him inside, he’s a wiry fucker. Oi! Go see if there’s anyone missin’ a toddler ‘round here, Al!” He called to a young man not far off, who nodded and ran toward the village in the distance.

The little one started to panic, gasping and staring at the place they were trying to take him. They would hurt him, or they would get hurt, they would yell and try and capture him and put him away.

The ground started to shake, the black tendrils wafting from his skin started to billow from him and black tar started to ooze from him in its wake.

 _“I SAID LET GO!”_ He shrieked, the black exploding from him in a sludge and taking everything it touched with it, including Frank’s arm.

The man screamed, blood and tar spurting all over the ground as he clutched at the stump where his forearm once was. Holes appeared in the road, things disintegrated entirely underneath as it melted it away. It was different than his fear. Anger poisoning his curse further and making him more dangerous.

He sobbed and ran away again, the same fate of losing a limb when the other farm hands tried to get a hold of him.

“DEMON!” They screamed. Devil, plague, all kinds of new things he’d never heard before. But they hurt just as much, even if he didn’t know their full meaning.

With these new voices echoing in his ears he found himself wishing he were back in the sky, alone. It was better than this bombardment of unwanted company.

He stopped on the crest of a hill, taking sharp breaths of the cold air and staring at his stained hands, sobbing quietly. He hoped with all of his might that his life wouldn’t always be like this.

He curled up against the base of a tree that night with the vision of the star reaching for him keeping him company.

It kept him so at peace he slept right through the police officer wrapping him up and taking him to a station far, far away, where a social worker would be waiting.

 


	2. Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both dark and light strive to find their place in the world. It's easier for some.

He learned so many things from this world. Namely that he couldn’t go out into public without wearing long sleeves. The hair he could lie about and he’d learned how to dilute the color in his eyes so they shone, but didn’t glow.

“People like to think they enjoy differences,” Sherlock said, helping him fasten the buttons on his jumper. “But they’re lying. They don’t like me and I’m ordinary compared to you.”

“Ordinary?” John asked, his arms too small for Sherlock’s oversized clothes.

“Not special,” Sherlock amended, nudging Redbeard away while he continued helping John get dressed. “Not like us. We’re different. But you’re more different. You did fall from the sky and all.”

Mummy and Daddy didn’t believe Sherlock about that until John showed him his light and healed a cut on Mummy’s hand she’d gotten from cutting vegetables for dinner that night.

Mycroft huffed about it all being nonsense and went away pouting, but Sherlock didn’t care. He had a live-in best friend he could teach and play with, and John could play back. Unlike Redbeard who didn’t really enjoy playing pirates or detective. And even better, John liked him.

“You all didn’t fall too?” He asked, head cocked curiously. Sherlock laughed and shook his head.

“No! No, we all came from our parents before us,” he explained. “Through a very tedious thing called sex, and then pregnancy, and then your mummy pushes you out and that’s how we get here!”

John snorted at the ridiculousness of these humans, but he liked them. They were so filled with love and light and so many other good things he couldn’t possibly ignore. It was wonderful to see.

Sherlock shook the excess dust from John’s hair. “I know, it’s gross and silly. How were you born?” The star shrugged.

“All kinds of light and dust all came together in this big ball and stayed there awhile. And after a bit of it being like that, I woke up!” He exclaimed, grinning.

“Are all stars born like that? Are they alive, like you?” Sherlock asked, blinking in wonder. John shook his head.

“No, no. Just some. Most of the time we live in the same places. Other stars are just gas and rock. No life,” he explained. Sherlock nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s brilliant! Are there other things that are alive? Besides stars?” He asked, stepping back and grinning at him.

“Mmhm! There’s planets and comets and…” His mind drifted to the dark cloud he’d met, pursing his lips. “Some other things.”

Sherlock laughed and pulled on his coat. “No one’s ever going to believe this,” he smiled. John nodded his agreement.

John was quiet after that, looking at the clothes he had to wear that were itchy and uncomfortable, but he did want to go to market with everyone today, and this was the condition for doing so. He couldn’t help himself from thinking about the other boy, the darkness.

He was out there all alone, and he might not have a Mummy and a Daddy and a Sherlock and a Mycroft or even a Redbeard to keep him company. He might be frightened still, crying still. And if that was happening that meant that he was breaking things on accident.

He wanted to help that boy so much, and maybe someday he’d have the privilege of seeing him again. He hoped with all he had that that were true.

“Come along, boys!” Mummy called and John immediately went scampering after her, taking her hand without coaxing and beaming at her. She was so taken and pleased with him she didn’t make him wear shoes this time.

~*~

Darkness was his name. That’s what he thought he was called. In this language he it was called James. Or Jim. He liked how Jim sounded better and decided to stick with that.

He had no one. No Mum or Dad like all these other children talked about having, or getting. The vastly overcrowded place was constantly being entered with potential Mummies and Daddies for everyone, except him.

The little boy was...strange. That’s the word they used for him. Odd, off, weird, freak, frightening. Each group of parents that passed him took one look at him and shuffled off in fear.

He was cold, exuding darkness wherever he was. Light fled from him, colors lost to him and wherever he went seemed to turn bleak and cold until he was gone again. Even sunshine looked uneasy touching him.

He stayed in that horrible house with mean children and did his best to keep to himself. He stayed quiet, kept to himself and shied away from anyone ever touching him.

That didn’t stop the couple who ran the house from beating him.

He never understood what he’d done wrong, but before he could even try to ask in the broken english he’d managed to learn they were hitting him. Slapping him, throwing him against things, gripping his arm too tight and screaming at him for being ungrateful, for taking up bed space, for eating too much.

They called him stupid and ugly and he believed them. They called him worthless and a demon and he believed that too. It took years before he understood that he wasn’t stupid, and it was the only thing he could disprove.

He learned to speak watching an Irish TV program that was on after everyone went to sleep. He taught himself to read and to write and demanded to go to school.

It earned him a fierce beating and a withholding of meals but he went.

His black eyes lightened, his little heart hopeful for some sort of reprieve, he found school to be just as horrible as home.

The children were louder here. They spit at him and called him names, laughed at him and shoved him around. He was much smaller than the others, softer spoken, with a constant glare in his eyes that came with such abuse and loneliness.

Eventually he started using his abilities on them.

The group of them that caused him the most harm during their recess approached him one day, ready to begin their daily torment. Jim smiled at them, a dark, twisted little grin that made them falter. And very suddenly the ground around them started to quake. The equipment trembled, the concrete cracked and before the sinkhole could appear they began to beg him to stop. He continued to smile, watching them scream as the world around them was sinking away.

“Leave me alone,” he said in his soft, gentle little voice. The ground was still and he left them. They were afraid of him now, and he decided he liked that better than having friends. It was easier that way.

~*~

“I want to help people!” John exclaimed, running toward Sherlock and setting down the textbook he’d gotten at school that day. “That! I want to do that, tell me how.”

Sherlock was startled out of his mind palace and gave John and irritated glance the star was very used to, and peeked at the book. “Oh. That’s a doctor. You have to do really well in school all your life and then go to more school you also have to do really well in, and then you get to be a doctor. It’s a really long process-”

“But that’s worth it,” John grinned, excited. “That’s what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be a doctor!”

Sherlock smiled just a little but kept pretending to be annoyed. John sat beside him, resting his back against his friend’s side and started to read about all of the wonderful things that doctors could do, and how he could help people.

That’s what he wanted to do. With his gift, with his light. If he could help people, in secret of course no one could know about what he could do, then falling to this planet would have been the right thing to do.

He’d started playing rugby at school - just touch, not tackling yet - and he really liked that as well. He enjoyed the running, enjoyed the sport and found his aggression would ignite and be used for something useful instead of burning holes in his clothes and scorching the floor.

He had a handful of friends other than Sherlock. Mike Stamford was one of them, and he liked him a lot. He was getting in trouble quite a bit lately, however, for fighting. People made fun of Sherlock too much, hurt his feelings and called him names and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

The first time it happened the boy he was talking to eventually punched him in the face, and John punched back.

He quite liked that too.

Mummy and Daddy tried to be angry with him and scold him but they always ended up smiling and telling Sherlock not to make other children feel so stupid all the time, as it wasn’t polite.

“But they are stupid!” Sherlock protested. “I can’t stand it when they say things that aren’t true!”

“Then tell me,” John offered, looking up at him and smiling at him. “Tell me how stupid they are, but not them. Maybe they’ll back off.”

They didn’t, really, they kept goading Sherlock until he broke and John punched them, but Sherlock still told him how and why these other children, and even their teachers, knew nothing and simply had to gush about it to someone or he’d burst.

John liked being the person Sherlock talked to. He liked being his friend. He liked the life that he was building here, even if he did have to keep who he was a secret most of the time.

After awhile he did still want to be a doctor, but a soldier sounded nice too. Then he could fight to keep people safe. Help people who were trying to do the same for others and make sure they got back to their families. That sounded nice. That sounded like the best thing he could ever possibly do.

He was happy. He was cared for.

Still, on nights when there were no moon or stars he looked up and wondered. Where was that boy? Would he see him again? He certainly hoped so.

He looked at the still-darkened patch on his hand, touching it carefully. He had a sinking feeling that he was wrong.

~*~

He wanted to stop being struck. He wanted these hands off of him, he wanted to stop hurting, to stop being afraid, to stop being treated like he was nothing. Like he was a hollow nothing that could be beat and it didn’t matter.

He wanted to stop feeling like he didn’t matter.

The house was nearly void of children. The rest that remained at this particular moment were older and out together to get away from the hell of the house, but he was still too young to go anywhere.

Jim remained with these horrid people and ended up beaten, broken, and crying his black tears alone.

No more.

His black eyes looked up at the woman striking him, the black tendrils constantly encircling his skin flared, pooling and curling all around him and eroding the floor, the carpet the walls around him like an acidic fog, and it seeped into the rough hand on his arm.

She cried out, balking at him and striking him across his face, knocking him to the ground. “YOU DEMONIC LITTLE FUCK! WHAT ARE YOU?!”

Jim grinned, dimples in his little cheeks, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Nothing,” he said sweetly. He rushed her, slamming his hands and his black dusted fingers latched onto her face, tar oozing out onto her as it had done that farmer and his arm. And like his arm, her face was eaten away.

He shrieked and he laughed, listening with glee, watching the blood spurt and trickle down his hands and arms with a gleeful cackle. Oh, he’d endured this for so long and he was done with it.

The man came in next, his belt raised, his scream of horror echoed in his ears and he threw his hand out, shooting one strong burst of tar through his chest. He watched his heart thunk wetly onto the hardwood and wither away under the black he’d exuded.

Surrounded by the two bloody bodies, he laughed. He threw his head back and screamed in triumph and the whole house cracked down the middle, all the way to the basement.

He finally staggered away, the tar eating through the floor, and the foundation of the house started to crumble in his rage. He ran upstairs, taking what little belongings he had and rushed outside, running away from the house, from the house that was sinking into the ground, where it belonged. In the dark, just like him.

He’d no idea where he was going, where he would end up, but it didn’t matter. The sidewalk behind him was marked by his black essence and left it riddled with holes from the consumption of his darkness.

He looked up at the stars twinkling above his head and felt tears swell in his dark eyes. That boy, that sweet little star who wanted to help him was out there somewhere. He was happy, he had to be. Anyone would be overjoyed to be near such a beautiful light.

He would.

If it wouldn’t kill the star to do so.

He shrugged his backpack further up his shoulders and walked away into the shadows once more. At least there he was among friends, surrounded by what he knew. Emptiness. A blanket of it just for him.

~*~

“Sherlock I know what that is,” John frowned, arms folded and glaring at him. “I’m not as stupid and naive as you think I am. Medicine my arse!”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled up to meet John’s, his gaze far away and distant. “Medicine is a group of chemicals that work to make you feel better. I fucking feel better, so technically-”

“It’s still drugs, Sherlock!” John barked, squeezing the syringes in his hand so tight they snapped. Sherlock scoffed and rolled over, the rest of the drugs tucked under his side. “Oh, come off it, I know where they are!” John bellowed, wrapping one arm around Sherlock’s middle and hoisting him up, grabbing the bag and throwing it out of reach before he tossed him back to the mattress.

“What is wrong with you?!” Sherlock bellowed, sitting up with a snarl and grabbing John by the front of his shirt.

“What’s wrong with me?!” The star exclaimed. “Look at you! You’re skin and bones, you don’t sleep, you’ve stopped talking to me about anything, which would be fucking normal if you were still working!”

Sherlock stared at him, shaking his head. “I’m fine, fuck off.” He shoved him back, sitting back down and folding his arms, pouting.

“No, you’re not! Why?” He demanded, glaring at him. “Why are you doing this to yourself?!”

“Because I’m, I’m trying to make myself ready,” he mumbled, not looking at him.

“Ready?” John repeated. “Ready for what?”

“Nothing. It’s not important! Just _leave me alone!”_ He scowled and turned over again. John sighed.

“No, sure, yeah, why should you talk to me? I’m just your friend,” he spat, staring at the back of his head.

“I don’t have _friends,”_ Sherlock hissed, curling in closer to himself. John faltered, hurt, and stood.

He bent down and picked up the bag he’d thrown, taking it with him to flush down the toilet. “Fine.”

He stalked out of their shared bedroom, quitting the house entirely once the deed was done and didn’t come back until after his rugby game. Sherlock hadn’t moved an inch, but he was hugging himself, his shoulders shaking.

Sweaty, glittering and gold, he sighed, dropping his bag and sitting on the edge of his bed once more. Sherlock didn’t speak, hardly acknowledged that he was there. He did reach up, after a moment, and wrap one of his skeletal hands around his warm and callused ones.

“You’re leaving,” he croaked out finally. “You’re leaving. And you could die. And you’re going to be gone for so long. I don’t know how to live without you, John. I don’t remember what my life was like without...without you. I don’t want to wake up every day and your warmth isn’t here anymore.”

John pursed his lips, his skin burning brighter under his concern, and squeezed his hand. “Sherlock, I, I’ll be back. I promise I will. Nothing’s going to happen to me. You can’t kill a star. Not with a bullet, that’s silly.”

Sherlock turned and looked up at him. “You can’t?”

John shook his head. “Far as I can tell you can’t. I’m your best friend, Sherlock, and you’re mine. I won’t be gone forever. I just...I want to help people in a different way that you do. Okay?”

Sherlock nodded, dropping his gaze.

“But you can’t keep hurting yourself like that,” he said firmly. “You can’t… That’s not going to make it better, that’s going to make your worse. What’s Mum and Dad gonna think if they find out you’re doing that shit at Uni? Or if Lestrade finds out? Or god forbid, fucking Mycroft?”

“Mycroft knows,” he muttered. John rolled his eyes.

“Such good brothers. C’mere.” He yanked Sherlock up and hugged him. Slowly his bright, incredible glow enveloped them both. His warmth sank into the human’s bones and healed the damage his habit had done to his body.

Sherlock hummed, closing his eyes and melting into him. The ache and tremors bled out, the withdrawal symptoms and even most of the craving disappearing with the star’s incredible, engulfing light.

He pitied anyone that didn’t have the chance to feel something like this.

John let him go, smiling at him. “Better?” He asked. Sherlock nodded. “Good, now go fucking eat something.”

“I don’t-”

John hauled him over his shoulder fireman style and walked out of the bedroom, carrying the now shouting and kicking boy and shouting to their mother that Sherlock hadn’t eaten anything in two days.

He cared about his friend, essentially his brother, and he wanted to be there for him. But there was something out there for him, something he could help a lot of other people, and he had to do this. For himself, for everyone.

Maybe even for that shadow boy he’d lost.

~*~

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jim smirked, leaning back in the plush leather chair, his heels crossed on the vast desk it went to. He chuckled. “I think I’m sitting in your desk, what does it look like?” He said smugly, watching the stout man start to bluster, then laugh.

“The fuck are you trying to pull, Moriarty?” He demanded, taking a step closer, slowly making his way around the desk to get to him, but he was ready.

The office was dark, and it was impossible to see the brewing smoke around him, and what it would do if he forced his anger and glee out like he wanted. He’d learned to be patient with men like this. To bide his time and then take what he wanted. Take their clients, take their name, take their money, and watch everyone kick and scream and fight just to get closer to him.

This man held the largest company he’d attempted to take thus far, but he felt confident in his abilities to do this. To take what he wanted and rip it away from those who had it. People had done as much to him since he crashed into that wet dirt and turned his back on salvation.

“I’m not trying to pull anything,” he said sweetly, teeth glittering in the dim light of the city outside. “See, I’m simply making a, um, an alteration to management.”

The man grinned a hideous smile, condescending and vile. “And what makes you think I’m going to let some little faggot like you do something like that?”

Jim laughed and cocked his head. “‘Let’ makes it sound like you have a choice, my dear,” he beamed. “You aren’t in charge anymore, that choice has already been made for you. By me and the little ones feeding your ego and your bank accounts. That’s already done. The choice I’m allowing you to have now, is whether you walk out of here with a salary I’ve so generously set aside for you, or whether I throw you out that window.”

The man glared at him, seething and glaring at him. “Do you have any idea who I am? Do you know what I’ve done, the things I’ve-”

“Yes, it’s very boring, Harold. Everything you’ve ‘accomplished’ is boring!” He sang.

“DO YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?!” He burst, slamming his hands down on the desk. “Bruno, get him the fuck out of my chair!” He barked to the man standing at the door over his shoulder. Bruno stayed still. Jim giggled again.

“Of course it’s a game,” he smiled. “Everything’s a game. All these stupid little sheep like you bustling around trying to win, constantly making moves and hoping the people around you lose a turn. It’s pathetic, all of it. However, it’s certainly something to profit off of. Ask Bruno, there. Someone passed go and collected all of the back salary you really should have been paying him all these years.”

Harold looked helplessly between the door and the boy in front of him, shaking his head still.

“So what’s it going to be?” Jim asked, his voice suddenly very soft, his eyes black and dangerous. Just the barest glint of light caught his pupil to show they were there at all. “Live? Or die?”

The older man stood very still, glaring at the child that had given him an uneasy chill the moment he set eyes on him. He sneered, tearing a gun out of his belt and aiming at him.

“You can die.”

The gun went off and Jim went still.

Harold gasped, chest heaving. “Little prick. Bruno, get rid of him before he gets blood-”

Jim giggled, straightening up and throwing the eroded bullet across the desk, watching it skitter in front of him. “Nice try,” he smiled, the tar around his chest seeping back into him. “And it really is an excellent choice you made.”

Jim stood now, ready for it when Harold rushed him. He stepped back to dodge him, watching him ram his head into the desk. He laughed, throwing the black smoke out over the window, a massive hole appearing in it when he drew it back.

He stepped over the man, hauling him up by his collar and kicking him toward the open window, grinning at him.

“What the fuck are you?!” Harold stammered, sweating and gasping and gawking at the child with such bone-rattling fear. Jim grinned, his eyes still so dark, his smoke flowing around his darkened fingers.

“I think I might be the devil,” he breathed. “But who knows. Off you pop!” He threw him out, letting him fall maybe ten feet before a shadow that rattled the entire floor of the building swallowed him up, tearing the matter of his body into nothing.

He turned back around, perching himself on the edge of the desk.

“Call someone about this window, won’t you?” He asked Bruno, who scampered out of the room with a squeaked ‘Yes sir!’

Jim hummed to himself, listening to the city rumble and roar outside.

He wanted to make London scream.

He wanted to be the nightmare they accused him of being.

He finally, finally wanted to be the darkness that he was meant to be. Cold, alone, unforgiving, merciless.

Alone.

 


	3. Enduring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Light and Dark find their place in the world and their fate.

He was a good soldier. A good doctor. A combination of the two made him great. He kept going back, did his tours happily, knowing he could help people like he did. And in the blistering desert sun it was impossible to tell if he was glowing or not.

He healed people, he fought people, he took lives that needed to be taken and even allowed some lives to be lost that he could’ve revived. But he didn’t like bad people who did atrocious things for no reason.

Above all he enjoyed the danger. The chaos, the excitement, the explosions. A constant, dire situation where nothing was really ever calm. It reminded him of where he’d once been. Up among the other lights in the black sky. It felt like centuries since he’d plummeted down into those dank, cold woods.

And he’d never forgotten that boy. He thought about him on dark nights when the sun had taken all its warmth with it and left everything around him frigid and hollow. An empty, but satisfying sort of feeling. Relief from blistering heat at last, soothing in its own way. Numbing.

He would look down at the darkened spots on his fingers, a birthmark, he told everyone else, and touch it, wonder if he was even alive, whether he was happy but he was older now. He knew the likelihood of a naked, frightened boy like that with the power that he held could have been lost in the woods and froze to death there. If he could freeze. Perhaps he would have starved or died of thirst. What if someone had been too afraid of him and killed him?

What he wouldn’t give for another chance to see him. To see what he’d become, to know for sure what had happened to him. Then he would put the subject to rest and forget all about it if that’s what the other boy wanted.

He supposed, though, that he wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d be a man like him now. He wondered what he looked like. If his black hair was still as thick, if his eyes were still dark and haunted as they once were.

John told himself a lot that he shouldn’t think about him so much. That it didn’t matter if he was alive or not. Nothing about that boy could really ever matter to him.

It made him feel less lonely. He had a family, he had friends, he had a purpose but he was still strange. Odd, different, always looked at with a certain awe and wariness even. An Other among Normal beings.

Perhaps thinking about that boy, the Darkness, let him understand that he was not alone in this world. He was not the only being with more power than some humans could understand. He wasn’t as big of a freak if there were someone else.

It ebbed the hollow loneliness, the dull ache that he could never quite get rid of that was nearly unbearable.

It just so happened that a bullet is far more unbearable.

~*~

The Spider.

That was his new name. He liked to draw little webs out of tar and eroding smoke on the walls just to drive that name home. A large web filled with all kinds of delicious little morsels. If they tugged or squirmed the wrong way he simply had to gobble them up and the rest would see. They would know what happens to such pesky little nuisances that forget their place.

Swallowed up whole by a pit of darkness. All that was ever found were vast holes in buildings and roads that couldn’t be explained. All else was whispers.

Mutterings of a demon, a dangerous man, a criminal, a hellish devil come to tantalize all with his soft voice and alluring smile. Such promises he will make but one misstep and no one will ever find you.

He quite enjoyed being feared. Fear and adoration went together in his little game. He adored playing ever so much. It kept his constantly whirring and overwrought mind from throbbing too hard. It kept his patience at a reasonable level, kept the panther well fed so it wouldn’t strike out at the terrorized creatures in the brush.

But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough. The roaring between his temples made him lash out in anger and he wouldn’t stop until he was bathed in blood. He would roar and scream and tear at his own flesh just to try and make the noise stop and it never did.

It was soothed by the stars.

Glittering above him, caught in the vast encompassing darkness. They could exist together. The dark had an ability to cradle such light without hurting it, and the light could stay and burn so bright without harming the dark.

Yet the sun itself seemed to vanish when it touched him. Flame disappeared when his hand brushed over a candle, even lightbulbs would fight to hold their glare if he passed. He may have consumed others with his darkness but none were as trapped as he was.

He liked to imagine seeing the star that fell one day, and cradling him as the night cradled the stars. Just to hold him and feel something warm radiate within him for more than a brief moment. A constant warmth that made him feel alive.

He longed for it. Relief. Some sign that perhaps he wouldn’t be so cold forever. He even dared to dream at times that he would see the star again and they could be close. They could touch and he wouldn’t hurt him and maybe someone made of pure light could see the value in him.

The star may cherish the dark as he’d longed for the light.

He’d no idea that sitting here under the stars that his was flickering in the desert. Fighting to cling to life, his only thoughts of blood and sand and hot wind and pain. He’d no idea the glow of his star was going to dim.

~*~

He felt broken.

His ability to heal was shaky. His faith in himself was shattered and now they were sending him away. Sending him home, to a small flat barely bigger than one room and a cane for a limp they said wasn’t real.

It felt real.

The ache from his shoulder to his leg, the way it was useless just as much as he was, that felt real. The cane was a palpable reminder of how real it was. He would get so angry just to hold the damned thing the plastic on the handle would melt and he’d have to buy another grip.

His left hand shook with tremors, his nights brimming with fear and exhilaration and such red pain. Sweat and floating little embers that singed his pillows and his clothes fluttered around him like fallout ash when he woke.

“Live with me,” Sherlock said, still buried in the microscope. John frowned.

“Haven’t called, written or so much as poked me on Facebook in four years and that’s what you open with?” He challenged.

“Well you don’t have to, I just thought it would be nice. You always did like London,” he remarked, peeking at him.

“You don’t want me around right now.”

Dimmer, he was dimmer. So much that he didn’t need to wear hats anymore to get people not to ask questions.

“If I didn’t want you around why would I ask you to live with me?” He said, still buried in the specimen he was observing.  

“Pity,” he spat, glaring. Sherlock smirked.

“When have I ever done something so distasteful, John?”

“You’re serious, then. I know you know about the nightmares, I can see it in that smug little face of yours, you’re really willing to deal with that?” He demanded, glaring at him and just...not believing Sherlock had the patience for something like that.

Sherlock looked at him soberly. “You dealt with my drugs,” he countered, steepling his fingers.

John stood down, so quick to anger and accusation lately. It came from the onslaught of questions about him. About his mental health, about his trust issues and his therapist and all the other shit that came from getting shot in the fucking shoulder and losing a piece of himself when he did.

It didn’t help that Sholto abandoned him either. Just like the rest of the military he just...left him.

But Sherlock just wanted to help him. And like himself Sherlock did get odd when he was lonely.

“You’re going to drive me insane if I do, aren’t you?” He asked, his tone more amused now.

Sherlock smirked and went back to the microscope. “That’s what brothers are for, isn’t it?”

It was hell. Sherlock was an annoying, pouty little brat that threw tantrums and insulted him, shot holes in the wall and got him kidnapped, shot at and nearly drugged. He’d shot someone else, got into arguments with chip and pin machines and constantly barked at the detective to buy the bloody milk for once.

But it helped.

The running around, the adrenaline, the chasing and danger and constant strain on his sleeping habits helped.

He burned a bit brighter, the cane forgotten in the melee of the passing months. Even nearly getting Sarah killed, pistol whipped and threatened helped him feel like he used to. He felt needed, he felt alive, and he felt useful.

And that certainly helped.

~*~

He was alive.

Shan made a mistake that he could never forgive, and it wasn’t putting his involvement with the Black Lotus in jeopardy.

It was mistaking his star for Sherlock Holmes.

He’d seen the pictures they’d taken, the surveillance, and there was no mistaking that glow. The light in his soft eyes, everything about him was just...right.

He’d found out too late why they were watching them, and the ridiculous, careless mix up they’d allowed to occur with such a precious casualty. His star was not to be hurt, and they’d made him bleed. He could care less about the woman he was with, but to harm _him._

It was so strange that he was so close.

The light could have ended up anywhere and he appeared in London alongside the one man that he might actually be intellectually matched with. Always with him, always getting into messes because of the Virgin and that prat of a big brother of his.

All he wanted to do was speak to him. Tell him that he was there, reach out from the depths of his web and promise him that he’d never forgotten about him.

It didn’t matter if the light hated him or maybe feared him like everyone else. He’d even allow him to never wish to see him again, that would be alright. He just wanted to see him again. Just one more time.

However, it seemed the Ice Man had other plans for him.

He should have seen it coming, should have known the whispers would have been loud enough for him to hear and want to do something about it. And he should have seen it coming. Whatever they bound him with, he couldn’t destroy. He tried.

And truly, it didn’t matter that he was being taken. He didn’t fight them, any of them. Even when they tried to coax him as if his power were some party trick. He never once tried to get away.

They took him to Baskerville.

He was starved, tested on and relentlessly interrogated about where he’d come from. What he was, if there were more. If he’d killed all the people it was rumored he had. He never said a word.

The Darkness let them beat him and mistreat him as they pleased simply because he was biding his time.

Once they were at the breaking point, desperate enough, he decided to ask for something he wanted.

~*~

“I’ve no idea who he is,” Sherlock said, glancing from the photo to Mycroft. “Should I?”

“Pity,” Mycroft sighed, tucking it into the file again. “Might’ve made it a bit easier then to explain this. Do you remember how we thought that John may not be...alone in his condition?”

Sherlock scoffed, shaking his head. “Is that why I’m here? Are you really going to ask me about experimenting on John-”

“Heavens no, Sherlock, I’ve had all I need from John for decades now, that’s not why I asked you here,” he said with that condescending smile of his.

Sherlock frowned, glancing at the door behind his brother. “Did you find one?”

“In a way…” He glanced back at it. “We’re keeping it contained.”

“Why? If it’s anything like John-” He stopped, looking at him more closely. “Oh. So it’s not then. It’s different, isn’t it?”

“In a directly opposite fashion,” he nodded, lips pursed. “But it certainly has my attention, and it should have yours.”

The door opened but Mycroft made no move to turn around.

“Does it want something with me?” He asked. Mycroft merely chuckled and turned into the room, walking in front of the large pane of glass.

Sherlock followed, a frown set deep in his brow.

A man sat in a single chair in the room, a heavy collar made of material he didn’t recognize around his throat. He was gaunt, pale, his eyes black and void, the circles underneath them starting to match. He was bruised and dirty, pricks from needles on his arms, which were folded neatly in his lap. He sat without moving, hardly blinking and he had to squint to see him breathe.  Such a cold, blank and hollow stare.

A shadow surrounded him. His hands were stained black.

He swallowed, looking at the writing along his cell.

“I can’t ask him to do this.”

“You don’t really have a choice, Sherlock. That creature in there could tear this entire building apart if he wished. It hasn’t said a word and then suddenly...this. Bring John here to speak to him at least. We need to find out something, Sherlock. He’s dangerous. He’s only here because he wants to be,” Mycroft explained.

“John could just be bait, we don’t know-”

“Then tell him the risks! This is important, Sherlock, you know you have to do it. And quickly. I doubt it has much patience left.”

The man cocked his head hard and cracked his neck, staring through the glass right into Sherlock’s eyes. He tore them away once more to look at the word.

Star.

Over and over and over again, bored into the walls as if clawed there.

It wanted John.

 


	4. Rejoining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dark and light see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-author credit given to the unbearably helpful and handsome Chosenofashurha <333 Thank you, my darling.

“If you could just tell me what the hell is going on-”

“Are you listening?”

“Yes, but-!”

“What did I say?!” Sherlock demanded, standing between him and the door. John blinked at him, shaking his head a little.

He didn’t know what was happening. He knew that Mycroft needed his help, for some odd reason, and needed him to talk to whoever was in that room. A room at Baskerville and John wondered if it was another star, maybe. Or maybe this was simply another trick of Sherlock’s to do some odd experiment on him and see if his theory was right.

Either way he didn’t appreciate the secrecy.

“Don’t touch it,” he repeated, staring up at him. “You’re not going to tell me any more about what I’m walking into?” He asked, brows knitted. Sherlock shook his head.

“You’ll figure it out soon enough.” He stood aside, opening the door.

A cell met him. White walls, white floor and a big black window on one side, a harsh light forcing his eyes to adjust.

The walls looked dirty, eroded, almost, and the word ‘Star’ was carved all over them.

A man sat in a chair, chained, too thin and John could see bruises on his arms from where he stood. He stared at the back of his head, at the black hair that matched the fog that surrounded him in a fine mist, billowing like dry ice smoke and eating at the floor around him, making a black ring.

The light that touched him seemed to turn gray and lifeless. Cold. John swallowed, clenching the hand with the blackened mark and took a step in. The door slammed shut behind him.

 _“Twinkle, twinkle little star…”_ Singing, the man was singing. John started walking around to the chair that had been set out in front of him. _“How I wonder what….you….are….”_

John could see his face now.

He stared, wide eyed and whipping back to look through the window for some sort of answer that wasn’t given and looked back at the Darkness that had fallen with him.

Smiling as if serene, more bruised and collared, eyes closed. They opened, and John felt that same strange...want to be close to him. That obsidian didn’t frighten him, but his smile did.

He sat down slowly, watching his lips stretch and his dimples crinkle in his face as he looked at him.

“Hi, Johnny boy,” he said with a soft lilt that sent goosebumps up John’s skin. “I’ve been waiting such a long time to see you again.

John nodded, licking his lips. “I, I could say the same for you.”

The man cocked his head, watching him closely. “Could you?” He looked over his shoulder, at the window. “The Ice Man seems to know you,” he said quietly. “Intimately even. Like family.”

“Sherlock found me in the woods. Him and his family raised me.”

The Darkness nodded, softening almost. “I’m quite glad for that.”

John frowned. “What about you? I know you, you ran off but, after that?”

He cackled, throwing his head back. The mist puddled into sludge around him. “Oh, I never had anything like you did,” he snorted. “When you have the power to collapse the planet if you fancied people don’t take well to you.”

John blinked, brow furrowing deeper. “You can do that?”

He nodded. “I can make people disappear into a void. I can take their limbs with one touch of my hand, I can absorb all light and melt people’s skin right off their puny little bodies, Johnny. I can do anything.” He looked down at the spot on John’s hand. “Except touch _you.”_

“How do you know my name? Did Mycroft tell you?” He asked. Jim shook his head.

“No, I’ve been watching for quite some time,” he assured. “Purely by accident, of course. Sherlock’s been prodding around where he isn’t wanted and I started keeping an eye on him. And look what I found,” he smiled wide again, and somehow John didn’t think him so threatening. “I do apologize about that little stint with the Chinese. Sarcasm doesn’t translate well. The situation’s been rectified, they won’t be bothering you again.”

John listened to him speak, in a bit of disbelief. “Did you...kill them because they hurt me?” He nodded once. John swallowed. “You...you’re Moriarty. Aren’t you?”

“Good!” He laughed. “Very good! You’re smarter than Sherly gives you credit for. Then again, he doesn’t give anyone credit now does he?”

“He’s like that, yeah,” John nodded, trying not to smile. This wasn’t funny at all, this was horrifying- why was he smiling?

“Jim is my first name,” he clarified. “In case you were curious.”

John nodded. “Jim. It’s… Well it’s not that nice to see you again.”

The amusement in Jim’s eyes left in a blink and he straightened up a little. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I mean I understand, I just...thought…” He shook his head.

“I mean under the current circumstances,” John explained. “Knowing that you’re…”

“A monster?” He chuckled, cracking his neck. “Didn’t you know that when we met, Johnny boy?”

John frowned a little. “That you’re _hurt._ Why did you want to see me after all this time?” He asked.

Jim’s black eyes rose to his once more. “It’s just us. Just the two of us here on Earth. Seemed right that I should try to find you… no one else knows. No one else _understands._ It’s cold, Johnny. It’s always so cold, but with you?” He laughed a little, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing burns as bright or as warm as you. You were kindness, you were relief to an ache I didn’t understand until I fell with you. You were my beacon, even when I couldn’t see your light. I never forgot.”

He blinked, his brows furrowing, watching the mask begin to crack, the vulnerability reflecting back at him in those dark eyes. He reached out for him.

“Jim, I-”

“Don’t!” He jerked away from him, shaking his head violently. “Don’t touch me, don’t. You saw what happened last time. Do you know what happens when light touches me? You can see it happening now. I take it. I take it away. I won’t put you out too.”

John quickly lowered his hand. “You can’t be sure that’ll happen again, Jim, it-”

“I won’t take that chance,” he said firmly, eyes distant again. “I learned to control what I do in order to hurt people better, Johnny. I don’t know how to use it to keep people safe.”

“Why?” John pressed, leaning forward on his knees. “Why hurt anyone at all? What happened to make you think you needed to?”

Jim glanced at the mirror, then back to John. “In present company all I’ll say is I didn’t have the happy home you did, Johnny boy. I am glad you had it. But that wasn’t my fate.”

“What was it, then?” He asked softly.

Jim smiled, tipping his head back stiffly in the collar. “Darkness.”

John sat there a moment, quiet, watching him. He looked at the walls, the word that beckoned him here, then pursed his lips and looked back at the window. “Get this shit off of him and let him out.”

Jim looked up, brows knitted. “What are you playing at, Johnny boy, what do you mean?”

“I mean I want you let out of here, which is precisely what I said,” he said, standing and clenching his hands, eyes still on the window. “I’m not leaving this room unless he’s going with me, understand?"

 _“John,”_ Sherlock’s voice said over the speakers. Jim snickered at the sound. _“You can’t possibly be serious. After what this thing-”_

“I’ll take full responsibility for _him,”_ he stated, still ramrod straight, standing between the brothers and Jim, who just stared at him with his lips parted.

“You’ll what?” He balked.

_“What does that mean?”_

“It means that if you let him out of here and more of the shit that’s been happening keeps happening it’s my fault.”

“Johnny, what are you doing?” He pressed.

John ignored him. “You let him go right fucking now, untie him and let him go.”

_“He’s not welcome in our flat.”_

“Then I’ll stay with him for a bit then, yeah?” He stated, taking a step closer, hissing at the glass. “Get in here, untie him and let us walk the hell out of here. You know what he can do even if he is tied up, we’re all on his patience level, not yours.”

He didn’t really know if that was true or not, but he was too pissed they’d hurt him in the first place to even care. It didn’t matter what Jim had done, who the hell he killed or what he destroyed. He didn’t deserve to be bound up like that. Or starved. Or beaten.

Jim swallowed around the heavy metal that fought his corrosive nature, staring at John’s back, rigid as it was. A soldier, a captain that he was, growling out orders and glowing so bright in his anger. For him. He was fighting. For him. Standing up for him.

There was a long silence over the speakers, John never relenting and Jim still utterly bewildered at the star’s actions.

Finally, _“If anything happens to you-”_

“He’s not going to hurt me. He’s had ample opportunity to destroy us both and he hasn’t, now get him the HELL OUT!”

He didn’t move until the door opened, turning his glare on the man who released Jim from the collar  and the cuffs.

“Buy me dinner first next time,” Jim smirked, winking at him. John cracked a faint smile as the man scurried off, head down, the door left open behind him.

Jim rubbed his wrists, meeting John’s eyes again. The light dimmed as he was soothed, and the darkness around Jim recoiled now that he wasn’t defensive. Black and electric blue locked a moment, before John cleared his throat and looked away.

Too off-putting, he always was. Even his star wasn’t immune to it.

A star. John.

John wasn’t his to have.

“If you’re keeping an eye on me, does that mean I need to have the guest room prepared?” He asked, looking at him steadily.

“I mean I could come over during the day,” he shrugged. “Go home at night. Or we could keep in touch over the phone, if that’s too much. Don’t want to impose on your life too much. Make you uncomfortable.”

Jim cocked a brow at him. “I etch star into the wall over a hundred times to beckon you here, and you’re the one being sure _I’m_ not uncomfortable?” He snickered. “You’re a strange one, Johnny boy.”

“Sherlock Holmes is my brother, I think I can handle a bit of…”

“Crazy?” He asked, tone serious now. John nodded.

“I think I can handle anything you throw at me, Jim. I’m stronger than I look,” he chuckled, looking up at him. His smile illuminated his face, making his beauty all the more alarming.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yes, well. I think I should at least invite you to tea tonight. So we, we can talk more...freely.” He gave a pointed look to the mirror.

“I agree. I’m starved, you?” He asked, ushering him out the door and away from the godforsaken cell they’d kept him trapped in.

John stalked down the hall, meaning to move past Sherlock without speaking to him, but the wiry detective barred his way, looming over him to stop him. “John-”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” John said with a small smile, a smirk that promised what his clenched fists were ready to give.

“I didn’t know it- _he_ was here until this morning. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

John relaxed a fraction. “You going to tell Lestrade?”

“Do you want me to?” Sherlock retorted, glancing back at Jim, who winked and blew him a kiss. His eyes narrowed but he didn’t react beyond it, though it was curious how John’s jaw ticked at the action.

“Of fucking course I don’t,” he spat. “Keep Mycroft the hell away from me. And him. Just- Let us figure this out before we pick up where we left off with each other, hm?”

The star looked between them. Jim smiled and bowed his head in obedience. “As you wish.”

John colored a little, checking Sherlock’s curt nod for sincerity before moving on, out of the facility he never wished to visit again.

~*~

The night wrapped itself around Jim like a blanket left against a frosted window, invigorating at first before it settled into a comfortable, welcomed warmth. He sighed, arms spread while the wind rustled his dark hair. He smiled.

“So much better than those fluorescents, don’t you think?” He asked, glancing over at John, who was perched on the bench next to him methodically eating his fish and chips.

“It does more for your complexion,” he remarked, teasing. Jim smiled.

John watched him in the dim light pooling their way from the city and his own body, the nearest streetlamp far off.

Jim looked exquisite here. His pale flesh shone like marble, the blueblack of the night swirling into his features, clinging to his hair and his eyes, seeming to swirl with the conducting of his fingers as they tried to wrap around the wind and harness it for his own means.

His smile was luminous, radiating the light he so often absorbed. Against the satin backdrop of the park he looked at ease, at home. John couldn’t hope to tear his eyes away from him out here.

The darkness looked over at him, noticing his looks and cocked his head. “Something on my face?” He looked down at himself. “Or is it these?” He plucked his shirt. “Not the most flattering things but they took my suit and I can’t very well change out here, can I?” He snickered, looking around.

John didn’t answer, looking away and shaking his head a little. Devious as the man may have been, he was unbearably charming.

He sat back down beside him, moving the bag with his things in it so the barrier between himself and the star was gone while he ate.

“You were in the military, yeah? Army doctor?” He said after a moment. John blinked, unsurprised by the revelation but still not expecting the comment.

“I was, yeah.”

“Just a doctor now, then?” He asked, looking over at him. “Makes sense. You...got hurt, hm?”

“You and Sherlock really do think alike, you know that?” He smiled when Jim laughed. “Yeah, I...I got shot. Almost died. Didn’t know that could happen, but…” He swallowed and looked up, out across the black fields.

“I thought about you all the time,” Jim confessed, staring over at him. “You were...some kind of beacon for me. I think I said that back in the cell but I want you to know I mean it. I meant what I said. Everything I said. More too.”

He looked down, setting his food aside. “I used to wonder constantly if you got to have a family. People who liked you, cared about you. I spent countless nights making up stories about you,” he smiled over at him. “The little light trying to brighten up the world. More than anything, I hoped you hadn’t ended up like me.”

John frowned a little, licking salt off his lips. “Like you?”

Jim was quiet for awhile before he responded. “I didn’t get a happy home like you. A good family with people to care for me, a house, a room, things of my own. I didn’t have a damn thing like that. I got...scorn. Brutal abuse of every sort. Countless houses, countless ‘parents’ and children passing around the freak no one wanted. Irish runt that made people anxious. It’s difficult to want to show affection to a child who you know is already too marred and broken to be fixed.”

“You weren’t broken,” John pressed, fighting the urge to touch him. “You weren’t, Jim, there’s nothing wrong with what you are!”

“There is,” he laughed. “Oh, when I broke out of that forest we landed in I severed a man’s arm for touching me. I collapsed entire roads, I’ve sunk houses and skyscrapers right into the earth, Johnny boy. I sucked up my elementary school just to watch everyone pop like berries. Crushed the bones of the people who threw rocks at me and the teachers who ignored my bruises. I’ve been a monster since before we left the sky.”

“You weren’t,” John said again, looking at him hard. “I remember. I remember those stars getting sucked up into you, I remember how you cried. How you apologized over and over again. How terrified you were to take me too. I remember that. That isn’t a monster, Jim, that’s a frightened child who doesn’t know what else to do!”

Jim looked at him, eyes shining. “It doesn’t take it away, Johnny. It doesn’t make me a different man.”

“No,” he allowed. “But it doesn’t make you the one you think you are.”

“Why?” He demanded. “Why doesn’t it? Why are you talking to me like this? I know you didn’t think that about me before we met, before you knew it was me. I know you thought I was a monster, you can’t look me in the face now and say it isn’t true!”

“I didn’t know what to think of you before!” He spat. “I didn’t know anything beyond your legacy. What you left behind, Sherlock’s little musings about what you wanted and who you might be. You were an ominous presence I couldn’t understand and now you’re in front of me and it’s different.”

He glared at him, jaw set, his breaths a little heavier. He tried to look furious and mildly aloof but he just looked miserable. “You can’t pretend you know me now,” he whispered.

“No. But I can try and understand you. You think you and Sherlock are the only two bastards that can deduce things from people? I’m not an idiot-”

“I know you aren’t,” he said softly, and John paused a moment to understand that.

“I… Bad people don’t look at me the way you do,” he said quietly.

“And how do I look at you?” He scoffed.

“Like… like you did when we met,” he said softly. “Like you want to be close to me, and you’re too afraid to learn how.”

“And you know why,” he said softly, looking at John’s hand, which he clenched to hide the mark.

“Jim, I know all you’ve ever used your touch for is pain. But, but maybe with some help, with someone to actually talk to you won’t have to feel like that anymore. You aren’t alone anymore.”

Jim looked at him a beat longer before dropping his eyes again. John could say that all he wanted, but that didn’t make it true.

The star sighed and pushed himself up. “Come on. Need to go to Baker Street.”

Jim frowned, standing to follow him, grabbing his bag. “You want to go home?”

“Nah,” he smiled, looking over his shoulder at him. “Need some clothes if I’m going to bunk with you for awhile. Just a couple days, I promise.”

He turned and started walking again. Jim smirked and cocked his head.

“What makes you think I’ll let you stay?” He asked.

John barked a laugh but kept walking toward the road.

“Because you’ve been staring at my arse all night!”

 


End file.
